“Ahem!” said Mr. MacCullough, clearing his throat significantly, “your last word to her, I understand, was a harsh one?”
“Ah! But I never meant it. She must have known I never meant it,” exclaimed Miss Carrington, her voice trembling.
The old lawyer shook his head. “We never do mean the harsh words,” he murmured.
“However,” he added, after a moment’s silence. “The fact remains that this girl, Margit Salgo, is assuredly the daughter of Belas Salgo and Anne Carrington. The money—what there was of it—left in the hands of Eben Chumley by his partner, Anne’s father, belongs to the child, and Eben must be made to disgorge.”
“It will hurt Chumley dreadfully to give up the money,” said Gee Gee, quickly. “How much is there?”
“Less than a thousand dollars. You know, Chumley & Carrington were in the real estate business in only a small way, back in those days. With interest, and all, it will be but a modest fortune.”
“I suppose those Gypsies thought the child was a great heiress,” said the teacher.
“That is probable. They undoubtedly think so now. It is my advice that you allow me to go to the police and explain the matter fully. Let them gather in this Jim Varey, and the others, and tell them just how little the sum is that is coming to Margit Salgo. It is about enough for her education—and that’s all.”
Miss Carrington nodded. “Nevertheless,” she said, with finality, “she is Cousin Anne’s child. I shall make her education and future keeping my affair. I have not worked, and taught, all these years for nothing, Mr. MacCullough.”
“Quite true—quite true,” admitted the old man, briskly. “And if you wish to adopt the girl——”